Quote:
Originally Posted by CameraObscura
When I simultaneously feel like a little 6 yo girl handing him flowers and desperately wanting him to love me, hating him for his 4 word reply to a vulnerable email, dreading Thanksgiving scheduling, being terrified that I can't really afford therapy, but can't afford not to go, either, and emailing him about all of it - repeatedly (and sometimes drunk and at 3:00am).
The man has the patience of a saint.
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Good grief. I relate to most of that so much.
I know I'm the trenches of therapy when I start to get frustrated and mad at my T, but I know I'm actually mad at the work I'm doing and not him. I'm also starting to figure out the the urge to bolt from therapy = the trenches of therapy. At least for me.